


Remember

by Leif Writes (FrankensteinsMomster)



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm's memory is that of swiss cheese, Martin Whitly is an asshole, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22836781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrankensteinsMomster/pseuds/Leif%20Writes
Summary: He could see him there in his mind. Strong. Loving. Confident. Pushing him on the swings. Tickling him until he squealed. Letting him stay up after his bedtime. Normal fatherly things.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19





	Remember

Sometimes Malcolm closed his eyes and tried to remember a time before all of it. Before the nightmares. Before the medication. Before the constant battle in his mind. He tried to remember his mother's face free from worry, free from doubt, free from guilt. Tried to remember Ainsley's carefree smile, the innocence in her eyes, the giggles and jokes they shared. Sometimes on nights where he was too tired to fight the guilt of it he tried to remember his father. 

He could see him there in his mind. Strong. Loving. Confident. Pushing him on the swings. Tickling him until he squealed. Letting him stay up after his bedtime. Normal fatherly things. He remembered sitting on the couch watching an old movie, his head resting against his father's leg. He was content and warm, filled with popcorn and love. He felt his eyes grow heavy before the weightlessness of being held and carried to bed. He felt a soft kiss against his forehead and mumbling I love you before his dreams fully took him.

He remembered the things he was questionable about. Being taught and tested on the intricate details of the human body. The praise of his ability to read people's faces. Being told he was so much more clever and better than any of his peers. Instead of lifting him up and making him arrogant it had only further wedged him away from his classmates. He had few friends and had become increasingly dependent on his father for company and connection. The more he thought about it the easier it was to see how much he had been groomed. For years his father had been slowly attempting to instill his thoughts and feelings into his son's young mind. 

He remembered the bad times. The yelling and arguing of his parents. His father pointing out his mistakes, his faults. Demanding him to do better, be better. Being told he was an embarrassment. That anything less than perfection was a failure. Constantly pushing him to the point of tears. Punishment in the form of silent treatments. Feeling cut off from everyone and everything in the world. Being utterly convinced that the only one who truly loved him or needed him was his father.

Even after his father's arrest, it had been and still was the thought that ate at him the most. That they needed each other. That no one would understand the father and son as well as they understood each other 

He remembers being on edge and never knowing which version of his father would be coming home from work. Feeling sick as the clock ticked down the minutes. Making sure Ainsley was busy with her nanny. Running to the door to greet him and ask him about his day. Waiting to see whether there was fury in his eyes or a laugh on his lips. 

So many of his memories were fragmented. Pieces of pieces. Colors and impressions without context. Like an impressionist painting seen too up close. Years of medication, years of trying to block out and forget, mixed with who knows how many months of being repeatedly chloroformed permanently damaged any hope of clear and concise memories. Try as he may he would never remember everything. Some things were lost forever. 

And as much as he hated it, some things would never be forgotten.


End file.
